"It's wonderful," he said, leaning forward and speaking almost in a whisper to the driver.
"Ow, thet's nothink. We think nothink of thet owver 'ere," the driver replied. "We down't tyke no notice of a little lot like thet!"
The conductor rang his bell, and the driver whipped up his horses, and the 'bus proceeded on its way.
John remembered that he had not heard any witticisms from the driver. Uncle Matthew had told him that one could always depend upon a 'busman to provide comic entertainment, but this man, although, after a while, he had become talkative enough, had not said one funny thing. He had not chaffed a policeman or a footpassenger or another 'busman, and now that they had passed away from the Elephant and Castle, his conversation seemed to have dried up. The 'bus tooled through the Newington Butts, along the Borough High Street (past the very inn where Mr. Pickwick first met Sam Weller, although John was then unaware that he was passing it) and under the railway bridge at St. Saviour's Cathedral Church of Southwark.
"What's that place?" John said to the driver, pointing to the Cathedral.
A hideous railway bridge cramped St. Saviour's on one side, and hideous warehouses and offices cramped it on the other. There was a mess of vegetable debris lying about the Cathedral pavement, the refuse from the Borough Market.
"Southwark!" the driver replied, pronouncing it "Suth-ark." "Suthark!" John said vaguely. "Do you mean Southwark?..." He pronounced the name as it is spelt.
"We call it Suthark!" said the driver. "Yes, thet's it, Southwark Cathedral!..."
"But that's where Shakespeare used to go to church!" John exclaimed.
"Wot's wrong with it?" The 'bus was now rolling over London Bridge, and the Cathedral could not be seen.
"They've hidden it. That awful bridge!..."
"I down't see nothink wrong with it," the driver interrupted.
"Nothing wrong with it! You'd think they were ashamed of it, they've hidden it so!"
"I down't see nothink wrong with it. Wot you gettin' so excited abaht?"
"_Shakespeare said his prayers there!_" John ejaculated.
"Well, wot if 'e did?" the driver replied. "We down't think nothink of Cathedrals owver 'ere! We've got 'undreds of 'em!"
John sat back in his seat and stared at the driver. He was incapable of speaking, and the driver, busy with his horses, said no more. The 'bus crossed the river, drove along King William Street into Prince's Street, and stopped. The conductor climbed to the roof and called to John. "You chynge 'ere," he said, beckoning him.